


The River That Leads Home

by GhostLlama



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Peter Parker, Angst, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Superpowers AU, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Stony - Freeform, Superfamily, dystopian au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 20:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17474339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostLlama/pseuds/GhostLlama
Summary: As the world settles down to a new normal, Steve struggles to connect with his son while protecting his family from things beyond his control.(Or: A dystopian AU featuring Stony and adopted Peter that nobody asked for)





	The River That Leads Home

It’s the day after a hard rain. The dark clouds trailing the storm still sit heavy in the sky coating the air with a warm mist. Mud from the soles of his worn, tattered sneakers kick up against his clothing as he weaves through wet leaves slapping against his skin. 

He’s in trouble in more ways than one, but the trouble chasing him has his heart racing faster than his legs trying to get him home. 

“You gotta stop following me, Fred! You really gotta stop! He’s gonna be so mad if he sees you!” He calls to the mutt trailing behind him before ducking down behind the tree line that opens up into their garden. Fred barrels through the bushes to get to him, only stopping when Peter reaches out and hugs him to his chest to keep him concealed in the vegetation. Fred licks the side of his face, leaving a line of clean skin from his cheek to the center of his forehead. 

He swallows a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing heavily with it when he directs his attention away from the mutt in his arms to the tall frame standing watch on the steps leading up to the back porch of the house sitting across the field. 

“I’m so screwed, Fred,” he whispers into the damp fur while burying his nose in the dog’s furry neck. He hugs him tight before reluctantly pushing him away. “You know you can’t come with me, Buddy. But I’ll see you soon, okay? “

He pulls the makeshift backpack from his shoulders and digs through its contents carefully until he can pull a bruised apple from the bottom. He tosses it up a few times to catch Fred’s attention before hurling it as far back into the woods as he can. Once Fred is far enough into his chase, Peter stands from his hiding spot and steps out into the open. 

 

————————

Overcast days are his favorite even though they come with residual pain throbbing down his left arm. The river at the barrier floods every time it rains and it takes a day or so to level back out and the fields are too muddy to get any type of work done unless some light tending to the garden is in order. Overcast days are his favorite because they are the days that Peter gets to be a kid. 

Stepping out onto the back porch, he shuffles over to his husband leaning against the banister along the steps going down into the backyard watching Peter traipse across the wide field to them. “He’s a kid, Steve.”

“He’s late.”

Tony chuckles while standing on the step above Steve and rubbing slightly at the man’s shoulders. “I repeat. He’s a kid.”

“He’s our kid and he’s late,” Steve counters while still keeping his gaze locked on their son. The boy does well to keep his head down, outright displaying the guilt he feels for disobeying yet again. Tony feels Steve’s shoulders move with a heavy sigh before the man slowly descends the stairs. He understands his husband is just disappointed with their son rather than angry, but hopes that Peter will understand that as well despite the way Steve towers over him when they come to stand together in the yard. 

“What was it this time?” Steve asks, crossing his arms over his chest, looking all but pleased at the muddy mess of their son. 

“S-sorry, Sir….I just…I was l-looking at the plants down at the river and-“

“The river?” Steve’s voice gets just a bit louder and Tony winces internally for Peter’s sake. “The same river you know you’re not allowed to go to during the rain season.”

“It’s always the rain season,” Peter mutters while adjusting his grip on his backpack. 

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry. I won’t-“

“Stop. We’ve been here enough times to know you’re still going to disobey me.”

Tony sucks in a breath at the way Peter squares his shoulders. His son and husband share quite a bit in common, a bit too much if he’s being honest and it makes the two of them insufferable when they disagree. He’s already half way down the steps by the time Peter smirks and says, “Then what’s the point of grounding me?”

Steve unfolds his arms and yanks the backpack from Peter’s shoulders. He glares at his son while rummaging through the contents, then glaring at Tony when he comes to stand next to them, offering, “He does it, because all teenagers are supposed to go through a period of hating their parents and he really doesn’t want you to miss that phase.”

Steve pushes Peter’s backpack into his arms effectively cutting off Peter’s giggle, but keeps the satchel of berries he’d found through his search and holds them up on display. “Berries, Tony. He’s late, risked his life by going down to the barrier, not to mention the river, for berries. That aren’t even edible!”

“Steve, hon-“

But his husband’s disappointment is blossoming into fear that looks a lot like anger to a thirteen year old kid, and it’s too rapid to quell. 

“You know, I don’t understand you. It’s like you don’t even remember what’s happened. We’re still being watched. They’re still out there! Do you get that?”

“I do! You know-“

“Do I? Because right now all I have are a handful of useless berries and son that would rather risk his life for them than do anything to help this family.” 

“Steve.” Tony warns, but his husband seems to have said all he wants and turns before his worry can bleed through and muddy the fear. Tony wraps an arm around his son a bit tighter than normal at the feel of the tremors running through his thin shoulders as they watch Steve march back into the house, useless berries still in his possession. 

————————

 

Steve shuts the door to their bedroom, softly as opposed to slamming it with the anxiety coursing through him. He sinks down on their mattress laying on the floor and braces his arms against his knees, staring at the berries with a strange curiosity. He doesn’t know where he went wrong with Peter, can’t pinpoint if their relationship turned difficult before the invasion or after, but sometimes it feels like it was never perfect, like there’s nothing there to get back to. 

“You’re too hard on him,” Tony’s voice comes from the doorway after the slow open and closing of their door. 

Steve hunches his shoulders even more with the weight of the fact that sometimes he feels very alone even in his own family. He can’t voice this of course, his jealousy of his husband’s easy relationship with their son a would be thorn in his marriage if he were to ever admit it out loud. 

“But you’re even harder on yourself,” Tony says while sitting down next to him. He reaches for the berries, setting them aside with a caution Steve doesn’t feel they deserve, and then intertwines his left hand in Steve’s right. 

“Do you remember that first week after we brought Peter home?”

“Hmm,” Steve affirms, squeezing Tony’s hand back just a bit at the warm feeling that had eluded him moments ago while thinking back on the memory. 

“He wouldn’t leave your side. I was so afraid he hated me, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess I should have enjoyed those days while they lasted, huh?”

“No, your problem is that you’re holding on too tight to them. Hon, I know you just want to protect him, us, but we’re not soldiers in this war, not anymore. We’re just….in the aftermath. We didn’t win against the invasion, but we’re still here. We’re still together. And one day, you’re going to have to be okay with that.”

“I don’t want him to grow up in this.”

Tony tightens his fingers of their intertwined hands and reaches for the satchel of discarded berries. He holds them out to Steve until he takes them with an uncertain grasp. 

“Then don’t let him.” Tony stands and opens their bedroom door. “But Hon, you can’t change what happened, and you can’t change how the world is now. You can, however, change the way you show our son love.”

 

————————

Steve pushes back the curtain of Peter’s makeshift room at the back of the house to find his son sitting on his mattress in the corner wrapping something up in some of their saved newspapers. 

“May I come in?”

Peter drags his forearm across his downturned face before nodding his permission into existence. Steve shuffles into the room and sinks down onto the twin mattress on the floor, pushing at Peter’s blankets piled in an unmade heap on the bed. He extends the satchel of berries towards his son, trying in vain to ignore the tear stains on his pale cheeks. 

“How about a trade?”

Peter sniffs and shakes his head. “Wouldn’t be a fair trade, really. It goes together.”

“Well then, I’ll just return them. You know….to say I’m sorry.”

Wet eyelashes blink in his direction while his son huffs out a pained laugh. “You can’t really do that either.”

“Oh.” He tries not to let the disappoint show on his face, hysterically afraid to show fear to his thirteen year old kid. 

Peter thrusts the wrapped parcel into his hands and picks at the hem of his heavily worn t-shirt.  
“It’s….it’s your birthday present.”

“My….Peter, you didn’t have to do anything.”

Peter hunches in on himself, unable to show a shred of confidence if not actively snarking at someone in the midst of trouble. It’s something he wished he could have prevented him from picking up from Tony. “I -I know, but it’s just…birthdays are…were special before. I…I don’t t-think there’s any reason they still c-can’t be.”

Steve feels a tug at the corner of his mouth as he reclines onto he mattress to prop himself up by the elbow. He starts pulling at the newspaper while agreeing, “You’re right, Peter. That’s something we can- will do again.”

He looks up just in time to see his son smile hopefully at him, lips tucked between his teeth, but a smile all the same. Turning his attention back to the gift, he finds that there’s three hand crafted paintbrushes and an equally homemade sketchbook. “Peter….this is…how-“

“Dad helped me make the paper. We tried real hard to get it like the old sketchbooks you use to have. It doesn’t have the same consistency, but….we found that it holds the berry juice really well. Permanent, almost like the real thing.”

“Berries.” His brain short circuits for a split second before he sits up and looks intently at his son. “You went for berries for….this.”

“I’m…sorry. I just….you don’t draw anymore….or paint. You use to l-love it and I thought maybe if you still could…you might…it might…m-make you happy.”

And that, that nearly kills him. More so, than any battle he fought during the invasion and the absolute fear that threatened to stop his heart when he had custody of a six year old kid, because how on Earth had he become the man he is in this very moment. 

“Peter….this is….thank you,” he says, wrapping it all back up and gently laying it next to him so that he can reach out and brush the boy’s curls back off his forehead. “But, son, I’m-“ he wants to assure him that he’s happy, but the thought of lying to Peter anymore than he has makes him swallow the words. Instead, he wraps his arm around Peter in a way he hasn’t in a long time. 

“Art does make me happy, but….this family…your dad… and you, Peter, especially you, that brings me the most happiness. I just….sometimes I forget to….”

“To feel it?”

Steve flinches a bit at the understanding that comes from his teenaged son. “Yeah, to feel it.”

“Pop?”

And wow, Steve has a hard time recalling the last time he’s heard that instead of Sir. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always, Peter.”

“Sometimes….sometimes I forget to feel it, too.”

And Steve can’t think of anything to say to that, can’t speak past the lump in his throat of knowing how much his son has suffered and knowing he’s ignored it for so long.

“Well, then, I guess we will just have to work on it together, huh?”

He feels Peter’s arms circle his torso and hug him desperately, like he thought he’d never get to again. “Yeah, Pops. Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit, not exactly sure where this is going to end up, but I just really wanted a Stony with adopted Peter story set in a dystopian setting so I decided to write one. Please let me know if you're interested in reading more!


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